Beware the Fury of a Patient Man
by MLaw
Summary: Illya is entrusted with escorting the daughter of a South American dictator to her home. Originally posted for PicFic Tuesday on section7mfu on Live Journal. pre-saga series


The attendant on the short flight to the back Isla Ratón had just offered Illya Kuryakin a cup of coffee, which he gladly accepted, hoping it would help his headache. He would be relieved when this assignment had come its conclusion, and he was rid of this charge.

He swore the young woman in his care was the devils spawn herself. He'd escorted royalty and the rich, as well as poor, but the daughter of a South American dictator was nothing to be trifled with by comparison to any of them. Nothing made her happy. He tried being polite, he tried ignoring her, he'd even lost his temper with her a few times yet none of it seemed to phase her in the least.

For a young lady, and he used that term lightly, who had been educated in Vassar, one of the most prestigious women's colleges in the United States, she acted like petulant child, making demands and ordering people about as if they were beneath her. How she survived at a women's college with her demeanor was beyond him, and supposed it was who her father was that protected her from any sort of repercussion from her fellow students and faculty.

He took one long sip of his coffee and sighed; coffee in South America always seemed to taste better and stronger. The Russian found it invigorating, and that he would surely need until he'd rid himself of this annoying creature and turned her over to the loving hands of her father, Generalisimo Miguel Fernando Valdez.

He looked up to see was she was sitting in her chair, making faces at him when there was a sudden jolt, shaking the plane violently. They were at too low an altitude for turbulence.

"Oh my God," she whined in perfect English, "can't he fly this thing right?"

The agent quickly rose from his seat, heading towards the cockpit when he and the two women were suddenly hurtled forward. Smoke began to fill the cabin...the plane was going down.

.

_Mayday mayday. Vuelo 270 tango-bravo está perdiendo altura rápidamente son nuestros coordinants _mayday mayday. Flight 270 tango-bravo is losing altitude rapidly our coordinates are..." _

The passengers were caught unawares as the plane plummeted and were tossed around like rag dolls within the cabin.

The pilot of the small Cessna never finished the message as the plane traveled nose down through the jungle canopy and toppled over several times before coming to a crushing stop.

Kuryakin woke with his face being slapped to awareness. "Wake up Señor Illya, oh please be alive?"

He reached out, snatching her by the wrist. "That will be enough." He stared into eyes to the frightened face of the flight attendant.

Consuela blessed herself with the sign of the cross. "Thank God you are alive."

"I think god had nothing to do with it, as in most plane crashes, survival is dictated by your location within..." his head began to swoon as he tried to stand up, but she was able to catch him in time.

"Do not try to move Señor, you have a muy grande cut on your head and it is bleeding. Let me see if I can find something to help stop it."

Minutes later she returned with a dishcloth an ice bucket that miraculously retained its contents.

She applied the ice pack gingerly, but the agent still winced at her touch.

"Where is...?"

"She is unharmed, and is sitting just outside. She has not said a word."

"Unusual for her, are you sure she is unhurt?" Illya tried to smile. "Consuela, are you all right?" He finally stood up, the ice pack having helped.

"Bumps bruises and cuts, but nothing serious. Our pilot did not fare as well, I'm afraid he is dead."

Illya gave no reaction at the news as he stumbled his way through the debris to the cockpit.

He looked at the open eyes of Carlos Ramirez and closed them reverently. Illya's attention was drawn to the instrumentation but not surprisingly it was all fried. The important thing was the radio, but when he found it; it's condition was beyond repair.

He reached into his coat pocket, and finding his communicator undamaged, he opened it.

"Overseas relay, Channel D." There was nothing but static. No doubt they were in a valley of somes sort, one of the few places that could cut off a signal from an UNCLE communicator.

"_Chyort_," he cursed under his breath. His next thought took him outside the plane, seeing Margarita Valdez sitting on a log, resting her head on her arms. Her clothing was disheveled and she bore a few cuts and bruises, but seemed none the worse for wear.

"It's about time you showed your ugly Russian face to check on me. I could have been bleeding to death for all you care."

"Miss Valdez, you are not bleeding to death and are alive, so be thankful for that. Now if you would excuse me, I need to check something." He walked past her, ignoring the fact she'd just kicked dirt at him with her foot. He began with a visual inspection of the Cessna, and there he found in the fuselage the obvious signs of the plane having been shot at.

"Not good. " Most likely it had been rebels fighting against the Generals regime. What better target than to take down the plane carrying the man's daughter. If it were rebels that had gotten wind of the flight, they would, no doubt, be on their way to see if Margarita Valdez had survived.

Illya decided they needed to vacate the area immediately.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Margarita and pulling her up by the arm, "We need to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"But why? Won't help be coming to look for the plane?" She resisted, pulling away from his grip on her arm.

Illya stopped, pointing a finger in her face. "There is no time for your nonsense. There are others, I suspect, who will come looking for you...ones who shot down this plane. _¿Me entiendes?"_

For once the look on the girls face became compliant. Yes she understood him all rightm and she knew there were those who would do her harm. "If you had done your job, this wouldn't have happened."

Illya opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was too exasperated to argue with this one.

He and Consuela gathered what supplies they could, a first aid kit, and what food and water that was left in the pantry. Every UNCLE plane carried survival kits with a small tent, blankets, a knife, fishing line and hooks, as well as a good supply of matches. A small container of potable water was undamaged in the crash and Illya was able to rig up a harness to make it easier to carry.

He located his travel bag, changing into more durable clothing for trekking through the jungle.

Consuela did the same, changing from her airline stewardess' uniform to a pair of slacks, a blouse and a pair of comfortable shoes.

Margarita was, of course useless in the task of finding the supplies and instead located her suitcase, which she insisted upon bringing with her. Illya calmly pulled the it from her hand, opening and dumping the contents on the floor of the plane.

"Now find a change of clothing, one you can travel in. And do it quickly or..."

"Or what? You going to spank me?"

He gritted his teeth, sorely tempted to do so, but restrained himself. He grabbed a pair of slacks, a top and shoes from the pile, as well as a light jacket and shoved them at her. "Change into to these now, or I will leave you behind for the rebels to get you. And I can just imagine what they would do to a pretty little thing like you."

"Fine! Turn around then." She huffed, taking but a few minutes to change.

While Margarita was at least cooperating, Illya at last located the one thing he'd hoped would be intact and that was his travel case holding the parts to convert his Walther into a carbine, along with three extra clips. HIs instincts were telling him he was going to need it.

"Hurry ladies," he called, offering each his hand as they stepped out from the plane. Not surprisingly Margarita refused and climbed down by her own means.

He handed her a small backpack filled with their supplies While he and Consuela picked up a large branch he'd trimmed to carry the water container between them.

Illya pointed the direction they were to take, with he and Consuela leading the way.

"How do you know which way to go? And where are we going?" Margarita demanded.

"It is called a compass my dear, and I am taking us on the heading that should lead us to your father's compound. Pray that we are not discovered before we reach it."

That statement, for the moment, shut Margarita up.

.

The mosquitos were incessant as they buzzed past Illya's ears, and for as many as he was able to swat while they began to suck the blood out of him, dozens more attacked, What he wouldn't give for some repellent...

The jungle canopy blocked the sun for the most part, but still it was steaming hot, the air echoed with the sounds of birds, monkeys and more ominous creatures such as the jaguar. As it began to grow darker, Illya decided to make camp and cleared an area to start a fire and set up the tent.

The women would use it, as he would sit outside to sit watch as long as he could keep his eyes open. It was then he decided to give Consuela his backup pistol that was strapped to his ankle.

"You do know how to fire one of these?" He stared at her in the firelight.

"Señor Illya, I am Section III remember?"

"My apologies, yes. Keep an eye on our little friend and make sure she doesn't try to sneak off for whatever reason. And take this." He handed her the small flashlight from the survival kit.

"I will come to relieve you, there is no need for you to try to stay awake all night."

"That will not be necessary, thank you." He finally broke a smile.

"I have heard this about all you Section II agents...so stubborn."

"Stubborn is what keeps us alive. Perhaps a little company later to help keep me awake would suffice?"

"Better that than having you fall asleep, "she smiled as she crawled into the tent.

Illya sat cross-legged listening to the songs of the frogs and other night creatures. He heard a sudden rustle, instantly aiming his carbine towards it. What hopped into view for a brief moment, pausing to stare at the Russian out of curiosity, was a small owl monkey with it's large nocturnal eyes reflecting in the firelight.

The food supplies they had would not last long among three people, making Illya try to recall the last time he'd eaten monkey meat. He vacillated as to whether it tasted like pork, or sometimes chicken. It was no matter, as long as it was cooked and edible

He wrapped a blanket over his head to help ward off the mosquitos, as the damp heat of the jungle gave way to cooler temperatures at night. The sounds of the jungle symphony began to work on him, and Illya found himself nodding off at times, and would awaken with a jerk.

"Señor Illya, wake up you are dozing off. Please, I can handle myself, go lay down in the tent and get some rest, you will need strength for tomorrow."

He knew she was right, the shock of the plane crash and his head injury had taken a toll on him and he felt completely drained of energy. He handed her his blanket and crawled into the tent without further argument.

Illya closed his eyes, falling into a deep dreemless sleep.

"Waaaaaaaargh!" A low bellowing roar from a howler monkey woke him with a breathless start, and out of habit he automatically grabbed his gun, only to be confronted now by a scream from Margarita.

"What are you doing in here with me you animal! You had the audacity to sleep in the same tent as me?" She pulled her arm back to slap him, but was stopped in mid swing.

"You listen to me, and listen carefully. If you were the last female on earth, I would not..." he stopped, allowing himself to regain his composure. It was daylight, having been announced by the howlers and when he crawled from the tent he saw Consuela preparing some of the provisions, spam and powdered eggs, using a flat stone to cook them on.

"Smells delicious." He called to her.

"Good morning." She handed him a aluminum cup, making the Russian grin. "Coffee?"

"Yes, I did a little exploring and found some wild coffee beans growing nearby. I used some stones to grind them, and a piece of cloth to filter. I think it came out well enough."

"How very resourceful of you Consuela." He sigh, taking his first sip. The coffee was strong and that would help keep their energy levels up for the rest of their trek.

Margarita emerged from the tent, already wearing an attitude on her sleeve.

"_Vamos, cariño, tienes que comer_Come on sweetheart, you need to eat_."Consuela spoke cheerfully.

"I'm not hungry."

"Then suit yourself, we need to pack up and get moving," Illya practically snarled at her.

"Oh all right, maybe just a little." She gave in with a whimper..

Consuela and Illya watched as the girl wolfed down the food as if she hadn't eaten for weeks.

Once breakfast was finished, the camp was broken down and the three started off again, following the compass. Illya tried a few times to use the communicator, but still there was nothing but static.

The Russian looked at his watch hours later, it was nearly noon and they'd been walking miles and itt was time for a break.

This time it was just a morsel of rations from the survival kit...crackers and jam along with some water.

As Illya closed up the backpack he heard voices in the distance.

"Finally some help!" Margarita blurted out. Illya grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand.

"Be quiet you little fool. It might be help or it might be the ones who shot down our plane. Understand? Now not a sound. I will go see who they are."

She nodded her head, as her eyes filled again with fear. Illya covered the two women with large leaves and branches, instructing them not to move or make a sound.

He headed off towards the direction of the voices, and the closer he got, the more nervous he became when he heard one of them call to another.

"Her body was not in the plane, so it is a good chance she is alive. El Jefe will be happy to get his hands on her, and he will use her as leverage against the El General."

"Sí, Miguel we will be rich men by the time El Jefe is finished."

"But what if the ransom is not paid?"

"The we have our fun with her and kill her when we are done."

Illya didn't wait for them to finish another sentence as he took off back to the others. He gathered them, and leaving the water and supplies, they took off at a dead run. Illya heard the sound of a helicopter in the distance and hoped it was friendly.

As the trio darted into a clearing, the sound of gunfire filled the air, both from the jungle and from above.

Illya was filled with relief as he saw a man waving to them from the Huey. It was Napoleon. The cover fire from the M240 machine gun continued as the three climbed aboard to safety.

"Napoleon, you could not have timed it any better," Illya yelled over the din of the engines and whir of the helicopter blades.

"As soon as your flight was overdue Waverly sent us out. This seems to be a sort of dead zone for our communications network."

Margarita gave Illya a dirty look as he conversed with his partner, and it wasn't lost on Napoleon.

"You, young lady are one very lucky girl," he said to her, "Lucky that you had Mr. Kuryakin to look after you."

"Him? He was an idiot, This was all his fault to begin with, " she snapped back.

"Enough!"Illya barked. "Excuse me Napoleon, there is something I must do that I should have done earlier. He grabbed Margarita, threw her over his lap and proceeded to give her a thorough spanking.

"This is for acting -like- a stupid-child- in-stead of a grown educated-young lady- who-should-appreciate others and-be-kind-to them! Respect my dear, goes a long way!"

Napoleon and Consuela stood by, watching in amusement as the girl struggled to get away from him. When he was finished doling out her punishment, he dumped her on the floor of the chopper without a second thought.

Margarita sat red-faced, her eyes filled with tears. "Are you going to let him get away with that?" She demanded of Solo.

"Mr. Kuryakin knows what he's doing from what I can see.

.

Margarita was returned to her father's home, with much thanks from the General to the agents for getting her there alive.

By the time they returned to Caracas, Napoleon had an evening all planned with Consuela, and Illya was left happily to his own devices, and those being a good meal, soft music on the radio and a comfortable bed all to himself, and one that did not need a mosquito net.

Several weeks later a card accompanied by a case of of vodka arrived at headquarters in New York, addressed to Señor Illya Kuryakin.

It was from El General himself, thanking Illya for setting his daughter straight...


End file.
